“You’re sure of it.”

“Yes.”

“He’s sure of it, Hanratty.”

Hanratty just stared and chewed.

“She has an alibi,” I said. “And I found it.”

“You found her alibi,” said Sims with an unconcerned voice. “Really, now?” He looked up at Hanratty, raised an eyebrow. “Tell me all about it.”

“A kid named Jamison,” I said. “I found him at an unlicensed Jamaican juke joint last night. He was with her at the time of the murder.”

“And what, may I ask, were the doctor’s wife and this Jamison doing that night together?”

“You’ll have to ask her.”

“But she’s not cooperating.”

“Well, there you go. Maybe you’ll find out at trial.”

“He’s a cutie-pie, isn’t he?” said Hanratty.

“And where is this juke joint you mentioned?” said Sims.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Let me rearrange his face,” said Hanratty.

“If you choose not to tell us the details,” said Sims, “and she chooses not to cooperate, then maybe we’ll choose not to believe you.”

“Suit yourself, but you might want to turn your attention to other suspects, since there’s a gaping hole in your case against Mrs. Denniston.”

“It’s not a hole. Even if the alibi pans out. You can still be guilty of murder if you don’t pull the trigger. We’d just have to add conspiracy to the murder charge.”

“And who would be the co-conspirator?”

“Tell him, Hanratty.”

“You,” said Hanratty.

“Surprise surprise,” I said. “Hanratty thinks I’m guilty. The thing you’re both missing is the why. Why would we want to kill her husband? I admit that she was an old girlfriend. I admit that we were trying to figure out if we wanted to try again. That might be a bit unseemly, but it’s not a crime, at least not in this state. Divorce is legal, last time I checked. So there’s no motive.”

“What about the prenup?” said Hanratty.

I tilted my head, felt sweat pop up like popcorn on the back of my neck. “Prenup?”

“Don’t even bother, Victor,” said Sims. “A sharp guy like you, if there’s a prenup, you know about it. The way it worked, if she left him, she got not a penny.”

“But there was nothing to get. It turns out the doctor was broke. Nothing to him, and you know it, too.”

“But maybe you didn’t.”

“If I was sharp enough to know about the prenup, I would have been sharp enough to get a grasp on the guy’s net worth before shooting him in the head for his wife, don’t you think?”

“Hanratty doesn’t think you’re that sharp. Hanratty wants to bust you right now.”

“And Hanratty thinks his haircut is quite becoming. But you know better than to charge anyone until you check out the suspects with the best motive of all.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Hanratty. “And who are they?”

I raised a finger like I was about to perform a trick. Julia and I had planned to set up Miles Cave as the prime suspect for the murder, but that was before I realized someone was setting me up to play the Cave part. The letter in my pocket would stay there until I got home, when I would destroy it, I decided. But even with Miles Cave out of the picture, when it came to those with motives against Wren Denniston, there was no shortage of options. I lifted my briefcase onto the table, opened it, pulled out a file with the words COMPLAINT LETTERS written in Margaret’s script on the cover, spun it across the table toward Sims.

“These are the letters from the investors who lost money with Inner Circle Investments, irate investors who all seemed to blame Wren Denniston for the loss. Some of the letters are pretty strongly worded. One said, and I quote, ‘You bastard, you deserve to die.’ You might want to look at that one twice.”

As Sims reached for the file, I pulled it back. “Mine.”

“We’ll make copies and then give them back,” said Sims.

“Just be sure you do. I might need them if you fellows keep trying to lay a frame around me and Julia.”

“You don’t trust me, Victor, do you?” said Sims.

“Not an inch.”

“But a centimeter maybe? At least that. Tell me you trust me a centimeter at least. Because, believe it or not, I want to help you. Listen to me, Victor. I admit I might be wrong about Mrs. Denniston. And I admit I might be wrong about you. As a matter of fact, there is nothing I want more than to prove it. Help me prove it.”

“How?”

“Talk to Mrs. Denniston. Tell her to answer our questions. Tell her to cooperate for both your sakes.”

“And if not?”

“What do you think, Hanratty? How would our boy Victor look in orange?”

“Peachy,” said Hanratty.

20

When I got home from the Roundhouse, I set a little bonfire in the bathroom sink. Then I took a long shower to wash off the sweat from the interrogation and the gunk from my hair and the oily sheen left on my skin from proximity to Sims. Showered and shaved, powdered and puffed, I put a towel around my waist and called Julia.

“How are you?” I said.

“Bewildered.”

“I understand. Today was a shock, I’m sure. Do you want me to come over?”

“No.”

“But I need to see you. Right away.”

“I don’t think we should see each other,” she said. “Not now and not for a while.”

“Why not?” I tried to hide the whine in my voice but failed abysmally. I was showered and shaved, powdered and puffed, and ready for action. “There is something important I need to talk to you about.”

“So talk.”

“I don’t want to do it on the phone.”

“I’m surprised. It’s easier taping a phone call than wearing a wire.”

“Julia?”

There was a strange pause, and then she said, “Where were you this afternoon, after you left my husband’s office? Why didn’t you call me right away?”

“I was detained.”

“Lawyers are always so busy.”

“No, really detained. By the police. They picked me up at my apartment. They had questions.”

“And you had answers, I’m sure.”

“They didn’t want my answers, they wanted your answers. What are they asking you? What are you refusing to give them?”

“They keep asking about Wren’s business affairs. But I don’t know anything about Wren’s business affairs. I never cared enough to learn. I guess that makes one of us.”

“Julia?”

“You should have seen your face, Victor, when that Nettles character told you my husband didn’t have any money. It was like one of your pathetic little dreams was crawling underfoot and he had stepped on it and squashed it flat.”

“I was simply surprised. Weren’t you?”

“Not about that. I could tell that things had gone wrong with Wren’s business. By the end his mood had turned so sour it could only have been caused by financial disaster. What surprised me was you. You were so shocked I almost felt sorry for you, even though it wasn’t your money. And then I learned you were at the police, blabbing away, and I figured you found a way to deal with your disappointment.”

“Who told you I was at the police?”

Another pause. “Did you do what you promised? Did you tell them about Miles Cave? Did you start them on the chase?”

“No,” I said. “I couldn’t. Something happened.”

“Yes, something has happened. I hoped we could trust each other. From the start that’s what I hoped. And you promised me that we could.”

“We can, still.”

“I don’t think so. Not anymore.”

“All I want to do is help you.”

“No you don’t, Victor. You can’t forgive me, so you’re going to pay me back.”

“That’s not true.”

“Even if you don’t recognize it yet, that’s what you’re doing.”

“Julia, listen. Things are getting hairy.”

“Shave.”

“Someone’s trying to set me up.”

“I feel the same way.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the prenup?”

“Would that have tempered your interest?”

“It would have been nice to know about a prenuptial agreement between my old fiancée and her murdered husband when I’m being questioned about the murder. Julia, we need to stick together if we’re going to get through this. I know you didn’t kill your husband, and you know I didn’t kill your husband.”